


Baptized In Color

by redhoodedwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Creature Inheritance, Evil Argents, Fluff, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Middle Ages, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining, Royal Hales, Which isn't surprising, burn pine perrish, but i like them so i kept them in, of things that weren't integral to the plot, so enjoy~, there are so many little details in here, werewolves are different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25313416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedwolf/pseuds/redhoodedwolf
Summary: Derek was pretty sure this all had been his mother’s attempt at a joke against him.The baby made a squealing noise, and his mother moved to see what was the matter. But the baby wasn’t upset, Derek realized. He was giggling, bright eyes staring up at Derek.He waslaughing at Derek.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 20
Kudos: 725





	Baptized In Color

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr request by stileshoechlin: Fic request: Royalty AU. Alive Hale family. Derek is a prince, Stiles is part of the court/or a servant (I’m not picky), but they’ve known of each other since they were kids. Obviously they pine. Jealousy over other suitors would be A+. Derek finally snaps at the end and decides he’s gonna shoot his shot at Stiles, he has plenty of other siblings who can continue the Hale line, and he wants to marry for love. Obviously Stiles is down 🙏🏻👍🏻
> 
> it was JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A TUMBLR FIC but once it passed 5k i have to move it and this blew past that before i realized

Derek was pretty sure this all had been his mother’s attempt at a joke against him.

It started when he was six years old and being stuffed into the most hated, uncomfortable outfit in his closet.

“But a baby doesn’t care what I wear!” Derek had complained to his manservant, a older boy who flinched at loud noises but never spoke anything but kind words to Derek.

Isaac chuckled. “I think it’s your mother who cares. I’m sure the baby would also prefer to not be dressed in his baptismal robes.”

“He’s not even related to me like Cora is,” Derek continued to whine, remembering the last occasion he’d been forced into the hot material, also a baptism. 

“He is the son of the head of the royal guard, and someday he may take over that post. That is why he is special and invites the royal family to his christening.”

Derek would have continued complaining, but then his older sister, Laura, ran into the room followed by Eric, their eldest brother, holding baby Cora against his chest as he shouted for the twelve year old to behave.

Isaac helped Eric shuffle all of the Hale children out into the hall, towards the royal cathedral where all important sacraments came to pass. Derek knew he would likely marry here some day, and he was okay with that because the stained glass windows made rainbows on the floor sometimes and Laura had taught him a stepping-stone game to play with them.

There were no rainbow stone today, though, the sun too high in the sky reflecting the hour.

Derek didn’t pay attention to the ceremony, too busy fidgeting where he stood. It ended quickly enough, and Derek was relieved when the small gathering in the cathedral began to applaud towards the baby being lifted high, held both by his father and mother, one on each side.

Derek was ready to strip as soon as he could, but he was first coerced to line up with his family to greet the new son of Head Guard Stilinski and his wife. The baby’s mother had a huge smile on her face, and even Derek couldn’t resist the tilting of his lips and the relaxing of his shoulders at the sight of her happiness.

Thankfully, no one expected him to hold the child. Derek was terrified to hold his own baby sister, let alone someone else’s child. But the wrapped baby who did look as uncomfortable as Derek felt, going by the screwed-up look on his face, was brought in front of him to greet.

Derek flicked his eyes over to his mother who just laughed at the look on his face. “Um, congratulations?” Derek said, staring down at the baby, then over to the child’s parents, who nodded at him in thanks.

The baby made a squealing noise, and his mother moved to see what was the matter and probably remove him from the priest’s hands. But the baby wasn’t upset, Derek realized. He was giggling, bright eyes staring up at Derek.

He was _laughing at Derek_.

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Well your outfit is silly, too!” he told the baby with a huff, heat filling his face in embarrassment.

“ _Derek_ ,” his mother, Queen Talia, chastised. She flasher her Alpha eyes at him, and he bowed his head in submission. 

The baby moved on down the line, no longer giggling. But he was wiggling, like Derek’s comment made him realized he did hate his clothes too and wanted to escape immediately. Derek watched the rest of the greetings until he was told he could go.

Derek was sure that was the day his mother hatched her plan

*

It was years and years before Derek interacted with the Stilinski child again. He of course saw Head Guard Stilinski often, standing behind or in front of his mother at important meetings, or when traveling between kingdoms, or even sometimes at meals.

He never saw the boy’s mother again, though.

It wasn’t until the year Cora started joining him and Laura for tutoring lessons that he saw him.

Derek was thirteen, nearly fourteen, and all he had wanted was to spend every waking hour in the garden or in the forest surrounding the palace. Studying was the complete opposite of that.

Now that Laura was twenty, she was no longer required by tradition to continue tutelage, but she still attended private lessons from time to time, mostly sitting in the library where all teaching commenced and reading one large tome after another and chiming in to their discussions whenever she felt like it.

Derek had been glad to have Cora join him. It was getting boring just listening to Deaton talk and engage him in stilted conversation. Laura wasn’t afraid to say anything and everything, so Derek knew there would at least be less pressure on him to perform perfectly.

Laura stopped him from entering the library, though, and pulled him aside. “Mom wanted me to tell you to be nice.”

Derek glared. “I am nice. Cora is the annoying one.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t mean Cora, I mean to Stiles.”

Derek tilted his head in confusion. “Stiles?”

Laura exhaled heavily, like the world was settled upon her shoulders for her to bear only. “They didn’t tell you-- well, it doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand. “You remember Head Guard Stilinski’s son?”

Derek hummed. “A little?”

“Well, he’ll be joining you and Cora for lessons from now on.” She leaned in and whispered, “He lost his mother last month. poor thing has been silent ever since and barely sleeps a wink. Dad offered to help, said giving him something to focus on every day like lessons would be good.”

Derek had a flash of memory of a bright, happy smile, and he felt a pang in his heart. “That’s horrible. Of course I’d be nice.”

Laura leaned back and challenged, “Would you have been as nice if I hadn’t told you the reason and he suddenly showed up without your knowledge?”

She had a point there, but Derek wasn’t going to let her know that.

“Does Cora know?” Derek asked instead, and at Laura’s nod, he nodded as well. “Good, she’ll be less...less, then.”

Laura slipped into the library before him, settling herself in her usual chair near the fireplace. Derek entered cautiously, seeing that he was the last to arrive.

Deaton gave him a small smile and beckoned him closer. “Derek, come say hello to Stiles.”

Stiles was no longer a baby, except for some chub to his cheeks. He looked almost too skinny, was surprisingly tall for an eight year old, and had startling eyes that reminded Derek of Beta gold. Though the boy’s mouth stayed closed, his eyes seemed to issue a challenge.

“We’ve met, though you were a baby then,” Derek said, but held out a hand towards Stiles. “Hi,” he added, awkwardly.

Cora smothered a laugh unsuccessfully.

Stiles stared at his hand for a long moment, and Derek started to pull it back when thin fingers wrapped around his palm and squeezed, once, before disappearing.

“Happy to have you here,” Derek found himself saying, but Stiles gave no reaction. 

The first couple of weeks of lessons were slow-going. Stiles wrote when Deaton assigned them work, but he never answered any of the questions posed aloud to them.

Cora seemed to be working overtime, and Derek thought Stiles looked grateful for it. He sat with a tense back at the beginning of each day, but throughout the lesson he would slowly relax.

Derek greeted him every morning, and eventually Stiles started nodding in response. After a few weeks, there was a small crinkle at the corners of Stiles’ eyes that Derek thought might be a smile.

Though he never spoke, Derek could tell Stiles was smart. Or, he _would_ be smart. He knew how to read, and his handwriting was already improving from the chicken scratch of day one. He seemed to pick up on information quickly, and Derek was a bit jealous of that.

Stiles would stay in the library after lessons often, snagging random books and curling up near Laura by the fire and reading for hours, until his father came looking for him.

Derek once, after dinner, snuck into the library to retrieve an assignment for Deaton that he had left behind, and had found Stiles asleep in the armchair Laura usually sat in, book on the edge of crashing to the floor, his slack fingers marking the page.

Derek slowly reached out and slipped the book from his hands, slid the bookmark ribbon into place, and set it on the floor next to the chair.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, and then repeated when the boy didn’t even stir.

When still there was no movement, Derek had a moment of panic and he crept close to see if he could hear for a heart beat. Derek had yet to come into his Wolf inheritance, which he wasn’t expected to for another several years, but often puberty started the changed in subtle ways, with increased senses, but just barely.

Derek hovered over the boy, straining his ears, and heard a soft patter of a heart beat.

He exhaled in relief, shoulders slumping and ears heating up in embarrassment because of course the kid wasn’t dead, why would he be?

Derek heard a groan, and his eyes flitted back over to Stiles who was uncurling in the chair and rubbing his eyes. Derek was unsure if he should leave and pretend he’d never been there or say something, but Stiles saw him before he could decide.

“Your book’s on the floor. I saved your spot,” Derek assured, pointing at it. 

Stiles slowly turned, still sleepy, his head down to look and then picked it up. He coughed into a hand, cleared his throat, made a weird whistle-like noise when he opened his mouth, and then croaked, “Thanks.”

Derek was stunned at the rough voice, and it took him too long to realized that was the first word he’d ever hear Stiles say.

By the time he did, Stiles was gone, and Derek had forgotten what he was in the library for in the first place.

Three days later, Stiles answered one of Deaton’s questions during a lesson, and Derek didn’t hide his proud smile.

*

Years passed this way, and it became commonplace to see Stiles discussing work with Cora, heads bowed together over a book. Stiles would often be seen with his father at meetings, as if he had always been in attendance. No one batted an eye at seeing a, for all intents and purposes, as he is not knighted or married into royalty, commoner in the castle, wandering the halls on his own.

Derek was aging closer and closer to his inheritance, and as he did, his senses were sharpening. He practiced secretly on Stiles, because the boy was easy to track. Ever since he started speaking again, it was like in the months he’d refrained, he had stored up all of these words. So if there was a person around, Stiles was talking to them.

Derek got good at hearing quickly.

Scent was trickier, but Derek used Stiles for target practice there, too. He spent a lot of time with him during lessons, so he was familiar with his faint scent and taught himself to discretely follow Stiles’ path through the palace halls. Any member of his family’s scents would have been too ingrained in the walls of this place, and pack bonds would have made it instinctive; it wouldn’t have been a challenge. Derek wanted to push himself.

With tracking his scent came reading his moods. Chemosignals were embedded deep in people’s scents, changing with their emotions. Stiles’ signals went wild throughout the day, but he often kept it off of his face, which Derek found surprising, as Stiles didn’t often hold anything back vocally. Not anymore.

One day, Cora snuck up behind Stiles and scared him. The boy’s heart sped up so quickly Derek feared it would burst. His emotions ranged from calm to immediate fear to anger to embarrassment and then back slowly to calm. The only thing that registered on his face was embarrassment (the flush to his cheeks) and anger (the pout of his lips that lasted only a few seconds). Cora got him laughing about it, and the situation moved on from there.

Derek kept close on days when Stiles stunk of sadness or any slew of negative emotions. His mother would give him a look that he couldn’t read every time she caught him doing so.

(See? Definitely premeditated.)

Soon, Derek was sixteen and started training with the knights. He had been doing one-on-one training for years, as a safety precaution before he was strong enough to hold his own, but he was of age now to join the others.

Isaac attended to him, as he had for years, strapping on his armor in record time, as if nothing changed but the venue. Derek wasn’t intimidated by the number of people gathered in the training field, but it did make him feel a tad overwhelmed.

And that wasn’t the only difference. People were invited to watch these training lessons. Partners of the knights when they had free time would sit and swoon and bathe them with loud affection. Talia watched his first few lessons, to keep an eye on everything and make sure Derek was comfortable. Cora would sit and watch for a while, teasing him when he did something wrong, but would eventually get bored and leave.

Stiles would sit and silently watch.

Of course, they boy’s father also took part in some of the training, so maybe that wasn’t so odd. As a senior knight tasked with heading the royal guard, he didn’t have as much daytime as the rest of the knights, who worked on staggered shifts, did. But he had to keep in fighting shape, and the few times Derek had been sparring against him had assured him he was for sure.

But Stilinski wasn’t always present. But Stiles was, most days.

At first, Derek had found it distracting. Stiles’ chemosignals would flare and change with each clash of a sword or shield, and Derek, after working so hard to find them, wished he hadn’t. It was as if someone started waving hands in front of his eyes with each shift in scent.

He took that on as a challenge, too, and eventually overcame it. Mostly because he was tired of falling on his ass in front of people who were lower on the hierarchy than he.

None of that mattered on the battleground, so none of it mattered in training, either. But still.

Derek wondered if Stiles watched because he was interested in knighthood, but he was never vocal about it, more interested in what Deaton could teach him with books than how to properly hold a sword.

Sixteen turned into seventeen, then eighteen. Cora celebrated her thirteenth with a rousing party she demanded for an entire year leading up to it.

Two nights later, the Argents tried to infiltrate their castle and burn them while they slept. War was waged the next day, the decapitated heads of the intruders leading the charge toward Argent land.

Derek was old enough to fight, strong enough for battle, but his mother denied him before he could even request. He had yet to come into his inheritance, she reminded him. He needed to have embraced his whole self first before he would be ready.

Stiles asked Cora and Derek in hushed whispers a week after the attempted assassinations if he could get a private audience with the Queen. It wasn’t formal, but they brought Stiles into the throne room before dinner, after the day’s proceedings, and stood at his side as he begged for his father not to be sent to war.

“I can’t,” he kept repeating, on the verge of tears. Derek reached out and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I _can’t_.” 

Derek saw the grief in his mother’s eyes and knew what she was thinking.

Head Guard Stilinski stayed on in the palace. However, Derek did have to wish well friends and fellow knights Boyd and Reyes (” _Erica_ , seriously, I don’t call you ‘Hale’.” “No, you should call him ‘Your Highness’.” “Shut up, Vernon.”) a safe journey. He saw them off, along with the rest of the family, standing on the palace steps as they rode off.

“They are strong,” Stiles told him. He’d held Derek back from heading into breakfast a few moments later, fingers wrapping around his bicep to pull him to a halt. He didn’t elaborate on the statement and let his hand drop a few seconds later, but Derek knew what he wasn’t saying. He could smell it. Relief, belief, calm.

Three hours later, Derek felt an intense heat engulf his entire body, and he shifted into a wolf for the first time.

*

The war seemed like it would never end, and it had only barely begun.

Eric went out to the front lines to gauge the situation and returned three months later with scars. Werewolves weren’t supposed to have scars.

The Argents had been preparing for a war against them for a long time. It was likely that they had expected the assassination plot to fail, like that was meant to instigate it either way. They had prepared for fighting against werewolves, having created weapons that could make them bleed and keep them bleeding. Their metal was dipped in poisonous flowers for swords and arrowheads.

However, the Hale side was stronger; they knew it, the Argents knew it. Talia told Eric to remind the knights to continue to fight. They could outlast the Argents, and they would. There was no need to give up. It would just take time.

That didn’t mean the morale in the palace wasn’t low. People tiptoed through the halls like they were worried about stepping on glass. Laura hardly left the war room, her betrothed at her side as they poured over maps and discussed battle plans.

Derek gave his support where he could, but he was still trying to come to terms with his new self, and half of his days were spent holed up in his chambers, unable to hold back his shift. He’d scared a number of servants with his wolfed-out face, and that made him feel depressed more than embarrassed.

Deaton would come to him in his chambers on those days, nonplussed by anything, to give him an overview of their last lesson and help him turn the paged of books and leaflets without tearing them with claws.

So when there was a knock on his door, Derek didn’t even reach out his senses to see who it was, knowing it was afternoon going by the sun in the sky and Deaton was bound to be around because it had been a tutor day.

Stiles slipped in once allowed, and Derek stared at the boy with wide eyes.

The newly celebrated fifteen year old had three different books huddled close to his chest, was worrying his bottom lip to pieces, and kept raising and dropping his eyes from Derek’s form on the bed.

Derek scrambled to stand, glad that he was currently unshifted. H’d never shifted in front of Stiles, and part of him never wanted to know if the boy would show fear around him.

“Did Deaton send you?” Derek asked

“I volunteered,” Stiles squeaked, then cleared his throat. “I had something to ask you, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Derek stuttered, and gestured to the large desk across the room. “Um, we usually look at materials over there.”

Stiles nodded quickly and shuffled over to the desk, Derek following at a sedated pace. His senses were on overdrive. Stiles smelled of a million emotions now, and Derek couldn’t tell if the stink of panic sweat was recent or from earlier in the day.

Stiles placed the books down on the wooden surface with care, taking apart the stack with sharp movements. He brushed his fingers over the covers of each book and said nothing.

“Stiles?’ Derek prompted.

The boy jumped, like he’d forgotten Derek was there, and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, was just thinking. How are you?”

Derek shrugged. “Feeling better now. I think I didn’t get a lot of rest last night. We worked really hard during training yesterday.”

Stiles snorted and smirked. “I saw. You keep that bruise on your back or has it healed already?”

Derek turned and lifted his shirt up. He craned his neck around to look down, but couldn’t see past his shoulder. “I don’t know, you tell me?”

Stiles said nothing, so Derek dropped his shirt and turned back. Stiles’ eyes were blown wide, his mouth parted. His cheeks started to turn pink.

Derek felt his own face flush in response. “Everything okay?”

Stiles blinked rapidly, like he was coming out of a trance a witch had put him under. “Yeah, I think that’s just the first time I saw your family mark.”

Derek raised a hand and rubbed below the back of his neck, where the top of his tattoo started. “Oh, yeah, it’s all healed now.” He’d gotten it on his eighteenth, as tradition expected.

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Looks good,” he said.

“Thanks. And, um, how are you? Today?” Derek winced at how awkward he sounded.

The question seemed to remind Stiles of something, however, and he slapped his hands down on the desk and gave Derek a determined look. “I’m fine. But I do have to talk to you. Can we do that first, before...” he waved a hand at the books.

“Yes, of course. Let’s sit.”

Derek and Stiles sat in the twin chairs next to the window. Derek’s view was pretty great and showed off the gardens, his favorite place to be, especially now when he was spending many days alone. Other than Deaton, the gardener, who Derek suspected might be mostly blind, had no issues with Derek hanging around and helping weed the plots and picking the fresh fruits and vegetables.

Stiles fidgeted in his chair, so as much as Derek wanted to enjoy the afternoon sun, he didn’t want to drag this out and make him suffer.

“Is there an issue?” Derek prompted.

“No! No issue, I was just...” Derek stayed quiet while Stiles figured out his words. “I have a friend,” Stiles suddenly continued.

Derek arched an eyebrow. To be honest, he was kind of surprised. He hadn’t seen Stiles around with anyone besides Cora or his father. But he tried not to show it, in case Stiles felt offended by it.

He shouldn’t. Derek had perhaps three friends outside of his family, if Isaac was allowed to count, and the other two were currently in battle. (Hopefully alive, but Derek did his best not to think about that.)

Stiles continued on, not mentioning Derek’s minor reaction. “Scott, he’s Melissa’s son?” Derek shook his head, unfamiliar with the name. “Um, she used to work in the palace here. Her husband had been a knight when Scott and I were kids. He, um, left them,” Stiles winced, and Derek understood, for it brought shame upon a family and even more upon the deserter, “and so they couldn’t stay here anymore. They live in the village now. But that’s not the point.”

Stiles seemed like he was getting worked up. Derek scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned towards him. “Is everything alright with Scott and Melissa?”

Stiles shot his head up to look at him and smiled. “Oh, oh yeah, they’re fine. Sorry, yes. Scott’s even more than fine, actually. He’s been recently seeing this girl. That’s what I wanted to tell you.” Stiles leaned in close. His eyes were sparkling. “He’s courting _Allison Argent_.”

Derek’s jaw dropped, and he almost shifted on the spot. He was actually shocked he didn’t. He latched on to Stiles’ scent, how he emanated an aura of calm and not panic, unlike Derek. Derek took a steadying breath.

“ _Woah_ ,” Stiles said on an exhale. Derek stared at him. “Your eyes are so _blue_ ,” he added with awe.

Derek blinked, and Stiles pouted. “Aww.”

“Stiles, concentrate,” Derek snapped. “Allison Argent.”

“Right!” Stiles snapped his fingers. “I’ve not met her, obviously, she and Scott have mostly been letter writing back and forth, which is so lovey-dovey it’s sickening. But here’s the thing... she _hates_ her family.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “How can you trust she’s telling the truth?”

“Because _Scott_ has met her and says she means it, and Scott is... too pure. I don’t think he has a bad moral bone in his body.”

“Which means he’s susceptible to lies,” Derek pointed out.

Stiles shrugged. “Sure, he’s naive, but Allison knows he tells me everything, especially when I don’t care for the details, and I’ve seen her letters. She looks like she writes with hate when she talks about her family. She and her father have disconnected from the main royal branch, though technically she is third in line for the throne.”

Derek didn’t let his jaw drop. _He_ wasn’t even third in line for the throne. Cora was above him in the ranking because of the tradition of a matriarchal society, and Eric was first because he was the first born.

“She, um, lost her mother to the war a few months ago,” Stiles went quiet for a moment before continuing, “and she told Scott that she and her father thought about coming here for sanctuary. But then _I_ had an idea.”

Oh boy.

“She could totally be a spy for us! That’s the one thing they might have on over us, and I know that because my dad got drunk a few weeks ago and told me everything. And I hope saying that doesn’t get him in trouble.”

Derek shook his head. “It won’t, we trust you.”

Stiles gave him a slow smile, cheeks dimpling. “Thanks,” he breathed.

“That doesn’t mean I like this scheme of yours,” Derek warned. 

“I don’t _like_ it either. But it’s an avenue we haven’t tried, and having someone at the top of the Argent family with our backs? That would change this war. It could be over in a month!”

Derek winced. He didn’t know about that. But Stiles was right, they didn’t have anyone on the inside. If they did...

“So what do you want me to do?”

Stiles waffled, head tipping back and forth, hands waving around. “Maybe bring it up? To Eric? _Crown Prince_ Eric,” Stiles corrected hastily.

Derek dropped his gaze and stared down at the floor, contemplating. What harm could it do?

_Lots_ , his brain hissed.

“I think I need to talk to her first,” Derek said. “Before I bring up any kind of hope to Eric and the kingdom. Have Scott write to her, and he has to be discrete, in case the letter is compromised, and ask her to explain herself to me and convince me. Her father has to be on board, too. She’s too young, if she’s near your age, to make any major change.”

“Done, done,” Stiles assured, nodding. 

Derek licked his lips. “I’ll write a little something, have Scott send that along with his letter. We’ll go from there.”

“Sweet!” Stiles punched the air. 

“I still don’t think this will work,” Derek warned. “But I trust you, so...” He sat back in his chair.

Stiles was still smiling. “Absolutely.”

Derek couldn’t help but give him a smile in response. “Now, can you tell me what I missed from lessons today?”

Stiles jumped up from the chair. “Oh, sure! We’re just continuing with the treaties.”

Derek listened as Stiles started on a tangent regarding the Hale/Yukimura treaty from several generations ago, snagging one of the books with much less care than he’d set them on the desk, what felt like hours ago but was really less than half of one.

*

Derek also blamed Scott and Allison, just a little. Because if the two of them had never come on to Queen Talia’s radar, than she never would have connected the dots that because Stiles is of the same age he, too, was an eligible young man of good standing. Bring that to Derek’s attention as well.

It was months after Stiles’ revelation to Derek that she heard anything about it, at least in an official capacity. Derek knew palace gossip spread like wildfire and the royals always knew it all.

Derek’s message to Allison was received and responded to quickly, and the two struck up a coded correspondence through Scott that eventually Chris Argent, the girl’s father, was roped into.

Derek confronted Eric three months into it, and his older brother took the reigns. Another month, and plans were set into motion.

Stiles preened like a peacock anytime mention of their “inside men” came to pass. His father would slap him upside the head, and Derek would work really hard not to laugh.

Derek finally had a good enough grasp on his wolf and was able to rejoin lessons, though he was above the age where he needed to. He wanted to, though, despite his love for the outdoors, and he did his best not to explore why he’d rather be cooped up with two teenagers and a mentor.

Derek would get updates from Eric regarding the spy intelligence, and then the next day get an even more excited, embellished update from Stiles using Scott’s information.

Isaac kept on as his manservant, but now that Derek was old enough to take on more responsibility and could dress himself, he asked the older man to take on more respected tasks, like acting as his advisor during meetings. Though he didn’t have any interest in knighthood, Derek taught him self defense with various weapons, and Isaac turned into a great sparring partner.

Derek glanced over to see Stiles watching one of their sparring matches one early morning, and found the boy’s eyes locked on Isaac who was in the process of wiping his face with the hem of his shirt, exposing his bare chest.

Derek sensed a sharp, spicy scent waft from Stiles, and he felt a growl build in his chest. He swiped at Isaac, unprompted, far enough away that he knew he wouldn’t hit him, but close enough that he would feel the brush of wind from the sweeping blade. “Never let your guard down,” Derek groused at a shocked Isaac and stormed off, feeling a wealth of emotions.

His mother intercepted him in the hall a few minutes later, probably having sensed immediately that he was upset. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” Derek growled, and found his mouth filled with fangs. He stuttered, and forced the change to recede.

“Derek?”

Derek ignored Stiles’ voice calling from a floor below.

“Is there something we need to discuss?” Talia asked, a pointed arched eyebrow adorning her face. 

Derek was unsure of what she meant until she heard Stiles call for him again. His face went red. “No! No, it’s nothing.”

“Hm. Alright.”

“Derek, I-- Oh! Queen Talia!” Stiles stood at the end of the hall, slightly out of breath, head ducked in a respectful bow. “I didn’t realize. She called you and that’s why you left?”

Derek said nothing and looked away. His mother caught his eyes and he tried not to challenge her gaze, but his wolf was antsy still.

“Are you doing well today, Stiles?” Derek’s mother asked after a moment of silence passed between them.

“Me? Yes, perfectly fine, thank you. And. And yourself?”

“I feel quite well. How goes your friend, Scott?”

Stiles beamed. Derek resisted rolling his eyes. “Scott’s great! He said he should have some, _ehem_ , news soon.”

Talia’s eyes widened and she smiled back. “Fantastic to hear.”

“I should--” Derek tried, wanting to leave and get some space.

His mother talked over him. “And what about news for you? Anyone catching your eye? You’re nearly sixteen, right?”

Sixteen, though early especially in these days, except for necessary treaties or dire war times, was the legal age to be married.

Stiles choked out a laugh, eyes flickering back and forth between the two Hales quickly. “Ha! Yeah, nearly. Um, me? No, no one... no.” He shook his head, adding another stone onto the growing pile settling in Derek’s gut.

“Mother,” Derek said, dismissing himself, and walked away without another word. He took a few turns, went out a servant’s exit, and fled into the garden.

“Anything need planting?” he groused to the gardener when he found him.

The man stared at him and blinked once, very slowly. “The herbs,” he said.

Derek nodded. “On it.”

He worked until even his fast-healing hands ached and the sun was gone from the sky.

*

Despite having inside information, the war continued on, and battles waged nearer and nearer to Hale land as the Argents pushed.

But they were winning. They couldn’t stop the battles, but they could minimize the damage.

Laura got married in the spring. The ceremony was beautiful, and Derek absolutely cried, he couldn’t even deny it. Stiles made fun of him for hours, but he also had tear tracks on his face.

Boyd returned from battle missing an arm, but alive. Reyes limped along side of him, their hands intertwined, until Derek embraced them.

“We married on the battlefield,” Reyes told him, breath hot against the shell of his ear. “I wasn’t about to let him go without having the joy of me as his wife.”

“Oh, the _joy_ ,” Boyd groused and got a smack from her in retaliation.

“So you must call me Erica now, for Reyes no longer applies.”

Derek acquiesced to that.

Boyd’s medical recovery had happened mostly before arriving back on Hale lands, but just because his health was steady did not mean he was allowed to go back to work. Derek invited him to sparring practice with Isaac to build up strength in his arm and learn how to protect his now vulnerable left side.

Erica would join in when she could, but she went back to training with the rest of the knights daily.

*

Derek met Allison one evening, during an underground meeting they rode two days out to have. Scott came along as well, and Derek saw for the first time how the two interacted.

Allison and Chris explained how his father, Gerard, and sister, Kate, were the last two heads alive on the Argent side, and Gerard was close to death from an illness he had been hiding for years. He was still a threat, however, due to his influence over his command. Kate was wild, no one followed her, but she hardly needed an army as she was one herself.

But the Argents were down 1-4 against the Hales, at least in number. Chris could see his father was close to death, which meant control would pass to him, because he was still playing the dutiful son role. If, for some reason, Kate was given control, which Chris didn’t doubt his father would suddenly do on his death bed, there were many unknowns. Kate would likely command all to charge Hale lands and burn it to the ground. They needed to erase that risk.

Derek caught sight of Scott’s thumb tracing patters on the back of Allison’s hand as he held it in his lap. Derek felt a pang of longing. He glanced back up, noticed that Scott had caught him staring, and looked back at his speaking mother silently. This was not the time.

Derek had heard the newest palace gossip right before they rode out, something like one of the general council members had been talking to another and suggested, just in case, they form a war-time treaty with one of the neighboring kingdoms, like the Whittemores or the Martins. Marriage was the fastest way to bring the kingdoms together. Cora was sixteen, but not interested. Derek was well overage for marriage and never voiced disagreement.

Derek shook his head and tried to focus again. It was all just gossip. And gossip was rarely true.

Isaac cupped a hand over his shoulder and squeezed, sensing his drifting mind, and Derek sent him a small smile and a shake of his head, assuring that he was fine. The war would soon end, and everything would then be fine.

The next day, they broke camp and each went their separate ways, a new plan in place to finally end the war.

Scott and Stiles embraced when they arrived home, and Derek busied himself with petting the horses and thanking them silently for taking them so far. Isaac eventually took his horse’s reigns from him and shooed him towards the palace.

Scott was gone, but Stiles stood in the entrance hall, waiting for him. “What did you think of her?” he asked, not even greeting him.

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes. “She is smart, knows the Argents inside and out, which makes sense.” Stiles voiced a cheer. “ _But_. I’ll never truly trust an Argent, not unless one becomes a Hale.”

“What about a McCall?” Stiles teased, eyebrows wiggling.

“They did look very cozy,” Derek grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Ooh,” Stiles cooed. “Is Derek _jealous_?”

Derek stiffened and did his best to pretend he hadn’t. “Jealous? No. If I was desperate for marriage or companionship I would seek it. I’m do not.”

Derek didn’t need to watch Stiles’ face fall to smell the sudden disappointment he felt at his answer. Derek stared him down, hoping he’d receive an explanation for the sudden shift in mood.

“Right,” Stiles said, sharply, and lowered his gaze respectfully, something he had never done to Derek before. “I misunderstood. Overstepped.” He nodded, once. “I’ll leave you be.”

Derek didn’t think Stiles had ever used such formal language with him before either. Didn’t know he could. “Stiles,” he blurted, confused.

Stiles either didn’t hear him or pretended not to as he hastened out of the palace, past the guards, and out of sight.

*

The war ended suddenly with a cacophony of fire, explosions, and death. Thankfully, the majority of it was Argent. But the Hale kingdom did not come out unscathed. Isaac lost his brother, Camden, but he was the only knight Derek knew by name.

The end of war celebration lasted for two weeks. Chris Argent was crowned King, Allison, Crown Princess. Scott proposed marriage on the spot, afraid some prince would sweep her off her feet, and she’d laughed but said yes.

They burned over a hundred burial shrouds. Derek oversaw the burials alongside Eric. It was a deeply sad day for the entire kingdom, and the Hales saw to it that they would remember this day each year as a time to give back, especially to the families of those who lost their lives.

Isaac shut down for a while, ignoring the festivities, understandably so, and Derek didn’t call on him, asking others to oversee the minimal tasks he didn’t trust himself to do.

Isaac would sometimes join him in the garden and would watch Derek work, silent.

On several occasions, Derek could hear Stiles and Isaac speaking, or scented them together, and would turn the other way. Stiles knew more of grief than Derek, and he didn’t have the right to intrude upon such a conversation. Even if it hurt him inside, just a little.

Stiles barely talked to him anymore anyways.

In these times when he was feeling lonely, he would visit Laura in her family wing and play with the twins, born just before the end of the war, two loud squealing babies that shared the Hale family pale eyes.

Laura would gently tease him about stealing her children, and if he wanted some so badly he should go make his own.

Derek had never put much thought into having children. He enjoyed spoiling the twins with tickles and let them pull on his hair, but he blanched at cleaning and replacing their cloth diapers. He wasn’t sure parenthood was the life for him, and it didn’t need to be, because Laura had already birthed the next generation of Hale royalty. Though, if Eric ever separated himself from the war room and found a life partner, that might make for a sticky next generation issue. Yet another reason not to add children of his own into the mix, not that they would have been guaranteed a close number in line to the throne anyway.

Derek could make plants thrive and enjoyed walks in the woods in the evening, following the paths that the stars carved out above. He didn’t have much further aspirations than that.

“At this rate, Cora will be married before you,” Laura teased one afternoon.

Derek snorted, waving a rattle in the twin girl’s face and pulling it just out of her reach when she cooed and tried to catch it. “Oh yeah?” he challenged.

“If the servants know anything it’s that she has been spending a suspicious amount of time with someone in her rooms. _Alone_ ,” Laura purred.

Derek scrunched his nose up. “Ew. I don’t want to know that.”

“Talking, Derek, just talking,” Laura assured him, but she kept the wicked grin on her face. Derek sneered.

“And who is the mystery caller?” Derek played along.

“Unsure. But there’s only so many people it could be, right?”

Her silence left Derek to his thoughts, and he nearly dropped the rattle on the poor baby’s face when the thought struck him.

“You don’t think--?” He looked up at Laura and she rose from the floor and leaned against the babies’ changing table instead. 

“Mother _has_ been talking to him recently,” she pointed out.

Derek hadn’t known that. He took a deep breath, set the rattle aside, and stood. “I’m going for a run.”

He followed the well-worn path through the woods, scaring wildlife that weren’t used to his presence at an hour when the sun still shone. Sweat poured down his back, but he kept up until his lungs felt heavy in his chest and he struggled to bring in air.

This was getting ridiculous. Enough.

Derek was a _prince_. He was a _royal_. He shouldn’t be stomping around in the trees like a pissy baby just because he was upset. He was _better than this_. And it was time he did something to show it.

*

Derek didn’t even knock when he burst into Cora’s chambers twenty minutes later, still sweaty and breathing deeply. “Is Stiles here?”

Cora shrieked and jumped, and on any other day Derek would have laughed his ass off at the display. She clutched her robe around her body before she realized who her intruder was and relaxed with an annoyed huff and let her arms drop.

“Derek, goodness, you could have killed me with that shock.”

Derek scented the air and listened, but the only heartbeats in the room were his and hers. “So he’s not here,” Derek clarified.

“Stiles?” Cora spat the name, clearly still annoyed. “No, it’s been at least an hour or so since he was here. He had to talk to mom about something, or she wanted him, I don’t know.”

Derek clenched and relaxed his fists and willed himself to calm down. “Thanks,” he said, and left as abruptly as he arrived.

He should have just followed Stiles’ scent in the first place. His was the first scent he had learned to track. Some days, he thought he could find Stiles anywhere.

And that really should have been a bigger indicator to him.

The closer he got, the more he could hear the voices of his mother and Stiles chatting. He didn’t listen to their words, as that would be an invasion of privacy, something he was taught very early in life not to intrude upon, even before he had the ability to. Their cadence washed over him, and he remembered how gross he felt, covered in sweat. He stripped off his shirt, hoping that would at least help, and abandoned it on a bronze statue next to a window.

That would make for some good gossip fodder for the servants.

Stiles and his mother were in the library, when he finally tracked down where their voices were coming from. He knocked on the door politely, and their voices halted.

“Come in,” Talia called, and Derek entered, eyes downcast in respect towards his mother. She flashed her eyes at him, and he raised his head. He did his best not to look at Stiles, even when he made some sort of choking noise. 

“Can we help you, dear?” his mother asked, reaching out a hand. He approached and took it, squeezing it gently before dropping it. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” he admitted.

“To Stiles or me, dear?” she asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

Derek hesitated, not liking that look. “Both of you... separately. But you first, Mother.” Derek then looked at Stiles, who had a horrifically blank expression on his face and didn’t meet his eyes. “If that’s okay? If I’m interrupting, I can do this another--”

“It’s fine,” Stiles snapped and stood. “Thank you, Queen Talia. Derek, you can find me later.”

Stiles left suddenly, and Derek reached out, as if to pull him back but Stiles was too quick.

“Mother,” Derek addressed her, turning to look at her before taking Stiles’ abandoned seat, “what were you two discussing? Laura pointed out that you’ve been meeting with him. Sometimes.”

“Yes, Laura is prone to noticing that,” Talia said. “We have been talking, but that is private between us two.”

“Does it have to do with Cora?” Derek blurted out, fearing he was already too late.

Talia hummed and appraised him. “Does that upset you?”

Derek felt his heart fall. He lowered his head and stared at his knees. “I wish for his happiness,” he found himself admitting. “And my own.”

His mother wound an arm over his shoulder and squeezed, a half hug, seating herself on the arm of his chair. “Your happiness is my wish as well,” she whispered into his ear. “There seems to be some miscommunication afoot.”

Derek turned to look at her, a spark of hope in his chest.

“I won’t tell you what Stiles and I have been discussing, as that is only his to share, but we have only once brought up Cora in discussion. And in comparison to your name, it has been uttered one to one hundred times.”

Derek bit his bottom lip, unwilling to let himself hope too deeply. “He is upset with me. Has been since before the war ended.”

“A lot of time has passed since then. Emotions tend to simmer after a while. I encourage you to try again.”

Derek kissed the back of his mother’s hand and stood. “Thank you, Mother. Will I see you at dinner?”

“I think the question is whether I will see _you_ at dinner,” she teased, sounding much like Laura in that moment.

Derek shrugged, unable to answer, and left. And he did what Stiles told him to do. He found him.

He was in the cathedral, of all places, sat beneath one of the stained glass windows. It was that perfect time of day, when the glass reflected a rainbow of colors over the stones. Derek remembered a game he used to play, skipping over the beams of light.

Stiles was baptized in reds and blues and greens that shimmered with sunlight as he held parchment in one hand and a quill in the other. An ink pot sat on the floor between his knees, and one of the kneelers from the pews crossed over his thighs, as a makeshift writing desk.

It was a breathtaking view, and he hated to ruin it. But Stiles stared defiantly up at him, quill clutched tightly in one fist, and he knew he already had.

“You only spoke briefly with your mother, then,” Stiles spoke first, because Derek was unable to. 

“Yes. It was only to clarify a small matter, that’s all.” Derek found his voice, though it was more difficult than he expected. 

Stiles nodded and dropped his gaze back to the parchment.

“A letter?” Derek prompted, stepping closer, weaving between two pews. 

“For Scott. He is in Argent kingdom currently, wedding planning. Seems a royal and commoner wedding is more of a grand deal than two royals.” He spoke calmly and composed, and he didn’t elaborate, though Derek could tell he naturally wanted to but was holding himself back. 

“Please wish him well for me.”

Stiles looked at him with a narrowed gaze. “Wish him so yourself.”

He moved to stand, and Derek knew he would only have another minute before he was dismissed, if Stiles could tolerate even that.

“And for you, also,” Derek hastened to say as Stiles got to his feet. “Wish you well. With whatever makes you happiest. Whomever.” Derek swallowed thickly and rolled his shoulders back.

Stiles appraised him, jaw working like he wasn’t sure if he should stay silent or scream. “And who, exactly, are you expecting me to find happiness with?”

“Cora,” Derek said. “Isaac.”

Stiles stared at him in silence, eyes widening. “You thought--” He cut himself off with a shake of the head.

“I thought,” Derek agreed. He took a deep breath before admitting, “I hoped not, though.”

Stiles met his eyes suddenly, taking quick steps so that they were a seat apart. “It is very unfair of you to assault me with your chest bare,” he declared, jutting out his arm and poking Derek in said bare chest with the quill. “It’s too symbolic,” he added, and his voice sounded lost.

“You laughed at me the first time we met,” Derek told him. “In this very room. I was standing right there,” he pointed towards the empty space near the baptismal font, which bubbled with blessed water as if to emphasize his point. “You took one look at me with your bright, golden eyes and laughed right in my face.”

“I’m not laughing now,” Stiles assured him.

“You aren’t. Which I am happy for, but also surprised. You didn’t seem so keen on me even an hour ago.”

“That was because I though you were anything but keen on me, that I’d been wasting my years pinning after this prince--”

“Pinning? For me?” Derek asked on a breath, elation filling his very bones. Though fast, Stiles’ heartbeat was a steady rhythm, not a lie detected. 

“I thought it was obvious,” Stiles admitted, stepping even closer. Derek glanced down at the motion. Their feet and ankles were covered in rainbows. 

“May I be honest?’ Derek asked, and Stiles nodded, a shine to his eyes Derek hadn’t seen in well over half a year. “I always expected to be married here. But then I met you here, and it seems like for the past long while the only part of this place that still matters is _you_.”

“Derek, stop talking around the words, and tell me,” Stiles begged, leaning even closer, quill and paper littering the floor at their feet. “Please.”

“I worried during the war that I would have to marry for power, but I knew I would have never been happy because it’s _you_ who makes me happy. I was jealous of every interaction you had where you appeared interested in others. I was jealous of Scott and Allison and how they got their impossible happy ending--”

Stiles groaned and threw his arms around Derek’s neck. “ _Now_ you’re verbose? When all I’ve wanted since I was _fourteen_ was for you to kiss me?”

Derek swallowed and rose his hands to place around Stiles’ back, fingers curling over his hips. “That’s young.”

“I was older than a baby, which was when _you_ apparently fell in love--”

Derek cut him off with a press of his lips, realizing just how annoyed Stiles must have been with him, because he agreed. Too many words.

Stiles melted against him, tightening his grip, one hand snaking up to weave into his hair and pull him into a deeper kiss. And as much as Derek wanted to, a place of God was not the correct venue for such displays of affection.

“Stiles,” Derek spoke against his lips, pulling back just a bit, “All I want is to grow flowers and grow old with you. I love you.”

Stiles’ eyes looked suspiciously glassy. “I love you too.” He kissed him again, sweetly, a slow press of lips. When he pulled away, he added, “But eighteen is still too young for marriage, no matter what Scott says.”

“As long as we beat Eric,” Derek presented the option, and Stiles grinned maniacally at him. 

“We can take our sweet time, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> check me out for more at [redhoodedwolf](http://redhoodedwolf.tumblr.com) on tumblr


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